A Storm Hawks' Christmas Carol
by WhispertheWolf
Summary: The "Storm Hawks" characters are playing out Charles Dickens's story "A Christmas Carol" . . . whether they want to or not! Join the annoyed narrator in his humorous,and seemingly vain, quest to re-tell this classic tale in its full glamour!
1. Chapter 1: The Face on the Ship

Author's Notes: Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_ is my all-time favorite Christmas story! So this year, I got a great idea. What if I got the _Storm Hawks _characters to act it out for me? Wouldn't that be entertaining? They didn't much like the idea, I admit, but they agreed when I threatened to e-mail Cartoon Network and YTV and tell them to take _Storm Hawks_ off the air. I even hired a professional narrator to keep everyone in line. Oh, this is going to be so much fun!

Disclaimer: _Storm Hawks_ was created by Asaph "Ace" Fipke and is property of Nerd Corps. _A Christmas Carol_ was written by Charles Dickens. I own nothing but the narrator.

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**A Storm Hawks' Christmas Carol**

**By WhispertheWolf**

Chapter 1: The Face on the Ship

Yes, why hello. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the narrator of the Atmosian retelling of this old tale and I am glad to make you acquaintance. Now where do I begin?

Oh yes, I suppose I should introduce the setting and the characters. Follow me and I shall take you to a strange Terra called Great Britain. The place we are going to is a city called London. Into the city streets we go. Ah, here we are, Scrooge and Marley's warehouse. And see, the door is open.

Yes, it's always cold in here in the winter, for Scrooge doesn't much mind the cold. What of Marley, you ask. Well, to put it frankly, he's dead. Been dead for seven years. Scrooge simply never blotted his name out on the sign.

Ah, there's Ebenezer Scrooge now, sitting at desk with a tiny fire beside him. Black hair is falling over those blood-red eyes of his in his red Cyclonian uniform. Oh, that uniform will have to go.

"I'm not Scrooge," he tells us. "I'm the Dark Ace. And I'm keeping my uniform!"

Fine, but you're not the Dark Ace. For now you are Scrooge.

"Why do I have to be Scrooge? He's the character who . . ."

Don't ruin the story now.

"Fine, but call me the Dark Ace. Not Scrooge."

No can do. You have to go by the right name or the story's not right.

"But I don't want to be called Scrooge!"

What is your name then? We can't go on calling you by your military title.

"No one is supposed to know my real name."

Then you must be called Scrooge.

"This is ridiculous."

Enough, Scrooge. Be good like your clerk over there in the other room.

"Who? Him? Aerrow? You made that _punk_ my _clerk_?! Why I oughtta . . .!"

Now, now, Scrooge. Put your sword away. If you kill the clerk, you ruin the story.

Let's see our poor clerk, Mr. Bob Cratchit. Young, strong but penniless. His bright red hair reflects what little flame he has left from his own fire in his little cell beyond a sort of tank. He can't replenish it, poor soul, for Scrooge holds the coal-box and the clerk is not allowed to leave his cell.

"On second thought," Scrooge tells us, "I like this role."

"Okay," Bob says. "I _hate_ this role."

But why? On Atmos, you're a Sky Knight. Sky Knight of the Storm Hawks, in fact. So why do you not want the role of the honorable character?

"Because I'm enslaved to the Dark Ace!"

Scrooge grins. "And the Dark Ace is enjoying it!"

As I said before, here he is Scrooge, not the Dark Ace, and you two are not mortal enemies, just boss and worker. Got it?

"No!" they answer in unison.

Well, get over it. You're in the story now so just be quiet and go along with it! Anyway . . .

Here comes our next character, Scrooge's nephew Fred. He enters the counting house now, saying . . .

"Okay, dude, what am I doing here?"

The clerk looks up. "Finn, _you're_ the Dark Ace's nephew?"

"I know, man! And it sucks!"

Okay, that was _not_ what he was supposed to say.

"Dude, I cannot be related to the Dark Ace, not now, not . . ."

Please, people, the sooner you cooperate, the sooner you don't have to do this, so just stop talking and follow your lines.

"But I don't want to be the Dark Ace's nephew! I don't want to be related to him at all!"

"At least you're not his slave," the clerk grumbles.

You're not a slave; you're a worker, Bob my boy!

"I really hate that name."

"I know, man! And why do I have to be _Fred_?!"

Because that's the way Charles Dickens . . . Oh never mind. Sheesh, all of you are such whiners! Just continue with the story, _please!_

"Oh fine," the Dark Ace's—I mean, _Scrooge's_ nephew says. He clears his throat. "A merry Christmas, uncle! Oh gosh, that sounded so _wrong_!"

"You're telling me," Scrooge grumbled.

"Hey," said Finn—Fred—oh, you get the point. "That's not your lines. And as for _you_, narrator, call me Finn."

I'm afraid I can't do that. Please continue.

"Right," Scrooge answered. "Uh . . . bah! Bah, humbug!"

"Christmas a humbug, uncle!" Scrooge's nephew exclaimed. (There. No names. Happy?) "You don't mean that, I'm sure!"

"I do," Scrooge retorted. "Even a good fellow I know called the Dark Ace agrees . . ."

That's not part of the story!

"Fine! My, you're an infuriating narrator! Where was I? Oh yes . . . What right have you to be merry? You're poor enough."

"What right have you not to be merry, uncle?" his nephew asks. "You're rich enough. Okay, can I just drop the 'uncle' part. Please? It's really freaking me out here."

"Me too," the clerk agreed.

"I second that," Scrooge added.

Oh, fine. Whatever. Now quit talking to me! Characters aren't supposed to talk to narrators!

"Bah, humbug!" Scrooge repeated, "Listen hear, Finn . . ."

It's Fred, for Atmos' sake! Or nephew. Pick one.

"I don't like either," Scrooge grumbles.

Fine, your nephew can be called Finn. It's not that different.

"Oh yeah! I get my name!

"Hey, what about me?" Scrooge shouts. "I want my title!"

Okay, we'll compromise! You're . . . Scrooge the Ace.

"That'll do."

Finn cleared his throat. "Er, you were saying _uncle_?"

"What's so great about Christmas?" Scrooge the Ace continued. "You're paying more and more bills and finding yourself a year older and not an hour richer or any closer to taking over the world."

Dark Ace, may I remind you that your character Scrooge does not _wish_ to take over the world?

"That's simply because he's a fool! And anyway, _Scrooge_ _the_ _Ace_ wants to take over the world!"

Oh bother.

Finn answered his uncle. "I'm sure you can find Christmas a very . . . Oh, what's with all this smart talk? Can I just say this in a way _I _understand it?"

Sure, you ruin your script while I go hit myself on the head with something.

"Okay. Dude, you're invited to a party at my house. Wanna come?"

"Let me think," Scrooge the Ace grumbled sarcastically. "No."

"But why not?"

"Why did you get married?"

Finn's eyes widened. "I'm married! Oh man, this is so wrong! I'm fourteen, dude! Hey narrator." He wiggled his eyebrows expectantly. "Who's the lucky chick?"

I'm not getting paid enough for this.

"Well," Finn continued to his uncle, "I got hitched 'cause I liked the gal."

I believe the line is 'I fell in love'.

"Yeah, but that sounds creepy."

Bob Cratchit . . .

"_Aerrow_ Cratchit! Finn got his name and I want mine."

Gah! _Aerrow_ Cratchit looked up with a smile. "Who picked _Finn_ for this role? I think they have brain damage."

You know, Sky Knight, I could always let the Dark Ace take out his sword again.

"No, I'm okay."

Continuing . . .

Scrooge the Ace snorted. "You liked the gal. What a reason! Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!" Finn called cheerfully as he left. "Know that you can come by anytime. A merry Christmas!"

"Good-bye!"

"And a happy New Year!"

"Good-bye!"

The clerk watched him leave before returning to his work. "You know," he said, "I kinda like your nephew there."

"One more word out of _you_," the Ace grumbled, pointing at him, "and your Christmas present to me will be your salary, and mine to you will be your extra free time! Now get back to work!"

Presently, two other men entered, our lovely friends Tritonn and Harrier. They approached Scrooge the Ace. "Aye, do we have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?" Tritonn asked politely.

"Marley's been dead for seven years," Scrooge the Ace answered tartly.

"I'm sure he is proudly represented by his surviving partner," Harrier said, trying to flatter him.

"What is your business, gentlemen?" Scrooge asked. After all, he was a man of business and action and did not like to be kept waiting.

"We was wonderin', sir," Tritonn began, "if you would be so generous as to offer a donation to the needy. It's such a good thing to do, 'specially 'round this time oh year."

"For the needy?" the Ace asked. "Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?"

"Yes," Harrier answered with a sigh. "I wish I could say it's not so. Many would rather die than stay there."

Scrooge the Ace smiled. "You had me worried there for a moment," he answered. "You see, gentlemen, I already support the establishments which I have mentioned. And if the needy wish to die, then they better do it and decrease the surplus population. Now good day to you, gentlemen."

Scowling coldly at him, Tritonn and Harrier saw no further point in pursuing the matter, and they withdrew without a word of farewell.

No sooner was Scrooge the Ace relieved of them that he heard a sound that made him scowl with anger. It was the sound of a caroler at his door singing. Grabbing his sword (I believe it supposed to be a _ruler_, mister 'I use my own props'), he ran outside, waving it wildly. "Get out of here, kid! You leave at once, you hear me?!"

Cratchit tensed but said nothing in the boy's defense from his place in his cell.

The night drew on, a long night for Aerrow Cratchit. At length, Scrooge the Ace finally dismissed him. "I suppose you want tomorrow off," he said with a growl.

"Yes _sir_," Aerrow said through clenched teeth. "Man, I hate saying that."

"Fine," the Ace growled. "But be here all the earlier the next morning."

"Of course," the clerk said as he turned to leave. He paused at the doorway and added, "_Sir_."

Scrooge the Ace growled again. "Can I kill him now?" he asked. "Please?"

No, Ace.

"What if I just maimed him a little?"

Just go back to your mansion like a good little boy. And I'd appreciate it if you left your sword here.

"Not on my life!" the Ace snarled, grabbing his sword and marching out the door

Once out on the street, Scrooge the Ace headed toward his—ship? Okay, who made a Cyclonian Destroyer Scrooge's mansion?

"I did!" the Ace said, raising his ignited sword threateningly. "Got a problem with that?"

No, a Cyclonian battleship will do just fine.

"That's what I thought."

Scrooge started to climb up the plank into his ship when he saw the most peculiar thing on the front of the hatch. There, staring at him with blank eyes, was Marley's face.

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Author's Notes: This isn't turning out like I thought it would . . .


	2. Chapter 2: The Ghost of Carver Marley

Author's Notes: In this chapter, I guess we'll see if the narrator can get it together.

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Chapter 2: The Ghost of Carver Marley

You can only imagine the shock that face gave Scrooge the Ace, a man not easily shocked. The Ace is not one to believe in ghosts and fairytales and could face any challenge in battle without a drop of fear. But seeing that face there sent chills down his spine. His heart skipped a beat and his breath quickened. Yet as soon as he saw it . . . it was gone.

Scrooge the Ace blinked again to be sure. Still there was nothing. Probably just a trick of the light, he told himself. Just a trick of the light. He entered the ship, pausing when the hatch closed with bang. He turned around, half expecting to see the back of Marley's head. There was nothing there. Yet the Ace could not slow his breathing.

I must say, Dark Ace, you're getting into character very nicely.

"Yeah," the Ace laughed nervously. "Getting into character."

He's scared. I know he is.

Scrooge the Ace told himself he was being foolish. "Come on," he mumbled under his breath. "You've fought ferocious beasts and many Sky Knights on the battlefield, and you're scared of an illusion."

Since those are the Dark Ace's experiences and not Scrooge's, I think it's safe to say that the Dark Ace really is scared.

"Am not!"

Are to.

"Am not!"

Are to!

"Am not!"

Drop it.

Scrooge the Ace was slowly letting go his fear, but he still had enough of the face in his memory to check every room on his gigantic ship. He was quite tired after having checked the bridge, the engine room, the hangar bay, the cafeteria, the kitchen, all the bathrooms, the janitor's closet, the unused troops' quarters . . . everything. Nothing was awry.

Scrooge the Ace could only shake his head at his own nervousness. "Humbug!" he grumbled to himself and headed for his quarters.

Once there, he sat on his bed, enjoying the bit of warm broth he had taken from the kitchen. As he enjoyed his supper, he all but forgot about the illusion that had troubled him. That is, until the glider started to float.

Ace, I have but one question: What is Scrooge doing with a battle glider?

"Hey, I'm using my own props here, narrator! Don't make me use them on you!"

Alright, alright already. Moving on.

The glider then opened and soared around the room, much to Scrooge's horror. Around and around it went. Scrooge the Ace could only watch it, terrified. Then almost as suddenly has it began . . . it stopped and dropped to the floor.

Scrooge the Ace stared at it. "I . . . I'm dreaming," he tried to tell himself. "It's humbug still!" He changed color and nearly fainted, however, when he heard a heavy clank and turned toward the doorway, his eyes popping out of his head.

Standing before him was Marley's ghost. Scrooge saw with astonishment the gray tint of his skin and how translucent it was. The worst of it was the huge, heavy chain that wrapped around his body like a snake and clanked when he walked.

Scrooge thought he would have a heart attack when the ghost finally spoke.

"You . . . you killed me?"

Wait, that's not what he was supposed to say.

"The narrator killed me!"

Well, Carver, I can explain. You see, I needed someone to be a ghost and since your role is done in _Storm Hawks_ anyway . . .

"But you killed me!"

A ghost is better to play a ghost, don't you think?

"I never even got my revenge on Aerrow!"

The Ace's eyes softened. "You too, huh?"

Look, since you're already dead, does it really matter what happens to you now? Can't you please play this part?

"Oh, fine."

Scrooge the Ace was still staring at the ghost. "W-what do you want with me?" he asked him.

"Much," the ghost answered. Then he added quietly under his breath, "Unfortunately."

"Who are you?"

"It is better to ask who I _was_," the ghost answered.

Scrooge scowled. "I know you were Carver—"

"No!" the ghost interrupted. "In the story, idiot."

"Oh, ah . . . Who _were_ you?"

"In life I was your partner, Carver Marley."

No, you're not Carver right now, you're Jacob Marley.

"No, I'm _Carver_ Marley."

Fine. Whatever. I'm starting to care a lot less.

Scrooge the Ace looked over Marley carefully. "Can you . . . ," he asked hesitantly, motioning toward a chair. "Can you sit down?"

"Yes," Marley answered. "Yes I can."

There was a pause as they stared at each other, Scrooge trembling in fear. "Well," he said at last, "then do it!"

Scrooge the Ace watched Carver skeptically as he sat in the chair, but his fear held his tongue. However, Carver knew better. "You don't believe in me," he said. It was an observation more than a question.

Scrooge grunted, shifting on his bed uncomfortably. "Many things can trick the senses," he grunted. "I could have gone to battle and lost a lot of blood, and you're just an illusion. A lack of oxygen to the brain—the most likely scenario. Then this whole thing might be fake," he mumbled under breath. Clearing his throat, he continued. "Or you might be an undigested piece of steak, a portion of underdone potato, or a slice of rotten cheese—we sure have plenty of that in the Cyclonian Talon cafeterias. There's more gravy than grave about you, sir!"

Scrooge—or the Dark Ace for that matter, for he seems to really be getting into the story—is not one to crack jokes unless they are to psych the mind of an opponent. His shot at poking fun was to mask his own terror.

It didn't work. Or perhaps it might have, if only the ghost hadn't risen and let loose the most blood-tingling wail after the last comment. Scrooge the Ace fell on his knees, hiding his face in his hands. "Man of the worldly mind," Marley bellowed, "do you believe in me now or not?!"

"I do!" Scrooge cried in response. "But please, please, why are you here?! Why do you haunt me?!"

Carver lifted his fetters. "See these chains?" he said to Scrooge. "I wear them as punishment."

Scrooge the Ace stared at the huge, heavy chain, confused. "Punishment?" he asked. "Whatever did you do to deserve this?"

"It is required of every person," Marley answered, "that his spirit walks among his fellows and travels far and wide. If that spirit doesn't do so in life, than it is condemned to do it in death—for eternity. We must witness what we can't share, but what we might have shared in life as happiness."

Scrooge couldn't understand. "But you were so rich, Carver, and such a great fighter. And you were always a good man of business."

"Business!" Carver roared angrily, making Scrooge shrink to the ground. "People were my business. Common welfare was my business. And it was in these I failed! And you too, Ace, have failed! I have come to warn you. You are destined to suffer the same fate as I if you do not receive help."

Scrooge trembled at the thought of the heavy chains on his body. Surely any help would be better than going through this.

"You will be haunted," he said, "by three spirits; Storm Hawks, might I add."

You weren't supposed to say that.

"I'm talking to the Dark Ace here; I think he ought to know."

"Spirits?" Scrooge the Ace gasped in horror. "_Storm_ _Hawks_?! I think I'd rather not."

"Without their help," Carver warned, "you cannot hope to escape this horrible fate. You can expect the first Storm Hawk tomorrow at one in the morning."

"Can't I just take them all on at once and be done with 'em?" Scrooge the Ace growled.

Carver continued speaking as if he hadn't heard. "Expect the next on the next night at the same time. Then the third will be on the next night after the last stroke of twelve has ceased. And be sure to remember what I've told you, or you shall join us!"

"Us?" Scrooge asked, perplexed.

Carver stood and went to the window, motioning for Scrooge to come with him. Once there, he pulled back the blinds and gasped at what he saw.

The air was filled with spirits, ghosts and phantoms wailing and moaning, crying in the most piteous way. Every one had chains on them like Marley; none were free. Many of them, Scrooge the Ace noticed with a sinking feeling, were . . .

Wait. There's no Talons in London. Oh well. This thing is getting out of my hands. Anyway, most of them were Talons.

Carver turned to Scrooge the Ace. "This is where we part, Ace, hopefully forever. And remember, learn your lessons from the Storm Hawks, or your chains will be heavier than mine!" And then like that, he flew out the window to join the other spirits as they faded into the mist.

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Author's Notes: Oo, that narrator better straighten out if he wants to keep his job! Killing Carver?! I can't believe! Luckily for him, he's a cartoon character, so we can go and resurrect him—hopefully.


	3. Chapter 3: The Crystal Ghost

Author's Notes: Let's see how badly they screwed up the story this time . . .

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Chapter 3: The Crystal Ghost

Scrooge the Ace slept soundly, mumbling in his sleep as he did so. "Christmas," he mumbled. "Humbug!" He shifted in his sleep, saying almost meaningless sentences. "All I want for Christmas is two big women." Snore "Yeah." Snore. "Or a new sword." Snore. "Kill Aerrow." Snore. Chuckle. "Aerrow dead for Christmas."

Ace? Ace, wake up. You're talking like the Dark Ace again, not Scrooge.

"Wha . . . ?" Scrooge the Ace mumbled as he sat up. "Why'd ya do that, narrator? I was having the most wonderful dream. I killed Aerrow of the Storm Hawks! The most wonderful Christmas present ever!"

Yes, I'm sure it was.

"Yes, very much so."

Do you know the meaning of 'sarcasm'?

The Ace wasn't listening. He was snickering. "I _will_ win in our final battle! Ha, ha!"

Okay, you have problems. Back on track now, Ace. Have you looked at the clock?

Scrooge looked at the clock next to his bunk. That wasn't right. It said it was only midnight. It was past two when Scrooge the Ace at last went to bed, which was not long after Carver Marley left. Was it possible he had slept right through a whole day?

He lay there, brooding on it. Perhaps Carver Marley had been just a dream. Perhaps he would wake up the next morning and go on a mission for Master Cyclonis instead of . . .

Wait. Ace, you're brain is off track again.

"What are you? A mind reader?"

Duh. I'm a _narrator_, remember?

Time passed, and Scrooge the Ace dozed, but he could never truly get back to sleep. At long last, he glanced at his clock again.

A minute to one.

And then . . . the hour itself.

Nothing happened.

Scrooge grunted angrily. "Humbug!" he said. "Now if you don't mind, narrator, I'm going back to sleep and see if I can get my dream back again. Stupid Storm Hawk!"

"You don't mean Aerrow, I'm sure."

Scrooge the Ace stopped. That was not Marley or his charwoman or his laundress or even the narrator—who he's _not_ supposed to be thinking about.

"Well, _sorry_, but how are you supposed to ignore a big booming voice explaining every little thing that's happening?"

Just try! Anyway, back to business.

Scrooge the Ace watched, his anxiety growing, as a hand slowly drew back the curtain and brought him face to face with the most peculiar figure. It was a beautiful figure. Dark skin was covered with the purest white robe that gave the dark royal blue hair an eerie blackness. She, for it had the figure of a girl, seemed young and innocent-looking, though at the same time wise and knowledgeable. The thing that affected Scrooge the Ace the most was the brightest of all lights she shed from her hands. The Ace recognized her. She was the girl of the Storm Hawks, their navigator. He hadn't realized that she was such a pretty little girl.

"Scrooge the Ace," she said, "do you know who I am?" He knew she was trying to be serious, but he could hear the snicker behind it. That broke the spell he was under.

"Yeah," he grunted. "You're Aerrow's girl, aren't ya? What's your name? Pipsqueak?"

The spirit huffed. "I am not Aerrow's girl, in this story or in Atmos! Let's get _that_ straight. And second, in Atmos, the name is Piper!"

"And here?" Scrooge the Ace grunted in boredom, shielding his eyes from her radiant light.

"Here," said self-proclaimed Piper-who-is-not-Aerrow's-girl, "I am the Crystal Ghost of Christmas Past!"

The _Crystal_ Ghost?

"Yes, that's what I want to be!"

"Are you one of the three Storm Hawk spirits I'm supposed to meet?" the Ace asked.

"That's me!" She giggled in delight.

"Pardon me," Scrooge grumbled, "but you mind putting out your light?"

"Dim my Christmas Crystal?" Piper gasped. "Shame on you! You dare to wish to cover the light I shed? Its men like you that make this light a rare sight to see in present times."

"But it's so bright!"

Piper huffed. "Fine," she said, exasperated. The Christmas Crystal dimmed, and Scrooge could see the crystal clearly now with its faint white glow. "My poor crystal," Piper said lovely, stroking it. "It's the most peculiar crystal I've ever seen, you know," she told Scrooge the Ace. "Nothing like it. The internal structure . . ."

Ah, Piper, we don't have that kind of time.

"Why not?" Scrooge asked. "Let's procrastinate a bit."

Trust me, Ace, you'll thank me later. She can go on and on!

"Hey, I'm not that bad!" the Crystal Ghost argued.

"So," Scrooge asked, "are you the ghost of long past?"

She responded, "Your past."

"Won't this be fun," Scrooge the Ace mumbled sarcastically.

"Rise!" the Crystal Ghost ordered. "Rise and walk with me!"

"I don't take orders from Storm Hawks!" the Ace grumbled.

"Fine," the Crystal Ghost said. "Spend eternity rotting, traveling in heavy chains and given no rest. See if I care."

"Alright, alright already!" Scrooge the Ace said. "I'm coming."

The Ghost led Scrooge toward the window. When he saw the spirit was planning on going out, he grasped her robe fearfully. "I'm only mortal!" he told the ghost. "I'll fall."

The Crystal Ghost giggled again. She was doing that a lot, Scrooge the Ace noticed, and it was getting on his nerves. "Wait till I tell Aerrow that you're scared of heights!"

The Ace clenched his teeth. "I'm sure your Sky Knight would react very much the same way if you asked him to jump out a window a good forty or fifty feet off the ground with no battle glider or parachute!"

Um, guys, forget about Storm Hawks and Talons and Aerrow at the moment. We're going to Scrooge's past, remember?

"Right," the Crystal Ghost said. She smiled at Scrooge the Ace, a smile that made the Ace's skin crawl. "Don't worry, Scrooge," she said. "There won't be any jumping out of windows today." She placed a hand on his heart.

Scrooge the Ace stared in surprise. They were on an open country road with fields on either side covered in snow. It was a clear, cold winter day. Scrooge the Ace couldn't believe his eyes. "Great Atmos!" he exclaimed. "I was born here! This was my first home!" Scrooge looked about here and there with excitement, recognizing every rock, every tree, everything wonderful about the place. He beamed at the spirit. "Lead me where you will!" he said, completely forgetting his reluctance to be led by a Storm Hawk.

"You know the way," the Crystal Ghost responded. "You lead me!"

"Know it!" Scrooge the Ace exclaimed. "I could walk it with my eyes closed!"

"Really," the Crystal Ghost commented. "Yet you forgot it all these years." She gestured toward the road ahead of them. "Go ahead."

"Yes, go ahead!" said another voice. "Let us go on a little adventure, hey, hey?"

Who is that? Ayrgyn the Skeelur? What are _you_ doing here? You don't have a part in this story.

Ayrgyn was dressed in a red military coat with white pants, a tall black hat, and shiny black boots with an empty sheath on his belt. "Sure I do! I'm Arygyn the Nutcracker!"

But that's not a character in _A Christmas Carol_.

"Sure it is! You wanted a character from a Christmas carol. The Nutcracker is in lots of Christmas carols!"

No! I mean a character from Charles Dickens' novel!

"Which one?"

_A Christmas _. . . Oh, never mind! Just leave.

"But . . ."

Now, Ayrgyn

"Okay," Ayrgyn said, pointing. "I see what you're doing. Sure, I'll come back later." He winked, and just before he left he added, "when the plot's getting _good_."

Oh, I pray you don't. Okay, Scrooge. You and the Ghost please continue.

As they walked along, Scrooge recognized every gate, every house, every sky ride, and could name the people and horses that went by with carts. Scrooge was almost frightened that these people might see him now. "Don't worry," the Crystal Ghost assured him. "They're only shadows of what was. They're not real. They can't see us."

They came upon a school down the lane, and the boys headed out on their way home for the Christmas holiday. Scrooge watched them go by, and the Crystal Ghost saw a peculiar smile on his face. He started naming them each, babbling about them and singing along with them when they broke out into song, in general acting like a perfect happy fool. She was stunned and was sure Aerrow might have gone a bit crazy himself to see the Ace like this. Crazy with shock.

Gradually every boy was gone and the schoolhouse was deserted.

"Not quite," the Crystal Ghost corrected. She looked at Scrooge the Ace. "There is one boy left." Scrooge nodded, and the Ghost was surprised to see something glitter on his cheek.

The Ace and the Ghost entered the old brick building and went into the classroom to find that poor boy sitting alone at one of the desks, surrounded by his only friends—his books. Scrooge the Ace's lip quivered. "It's me," he said.

The Crystal Ghost never even once thought that the Ace would be someone she cared about at all, but now she pitied him, and she put a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh yes, poor lad."

Oh no. Didn't I just get rid of you?

"Yup, and I'm back!" Ayrgyn the Nutcracker said. He held out a cup of cocoa to a perplexed Ace. "Hot chocolate?"

"Uh . . . Thanks?" the Ace answered, taking the cup.

"Pardon me," the Crystal Ghost said to the Nutcracker, "but I'm _trying_ to teach him a lesson here!"

"Yes," the Nutcracker said. He put his arm around her and held her close, trying to look knowledgeable. "And you could use a little help with that, missy!"

Good golly. Who let him on the set?

Ayrgyn just snapped his fingers, and the room changed, becoming a little darker and a bit dirtier. Scrooge's former self grew as well.

"Hey!" the Crystal Ghost scolded the Nutcracker. "Time travel is _my_ job! I don't need your help!"

"That's what you think, miss," Ayrgyn answered.

A little girl came running into the school, her purple hair flying behind her. "Dear, dear brother!" she cried to the young Scrooge.

The Crystal Ghost's eyes widened. "That's Lynn, from Talon Academy!" She turned to the older Ace. "Lynn is your sister?"

"Apparently in this whacked-out fairytale," the Ace muttered.

Look here, you two. That's not Lynn right now, that's Fan, Scrooge's younger sister.

"Fan?" Scrooge's sister said. "But everyone else gets to be called by at least part of their name. I want to be Lynn! It's bad enough that I to play _this_ role, and now I find I have to go by some silly name like Fan!"

Alright, alright, you're Lynn already! Sheesh!

Lynn ran to the young Ace and hugged him, grimacing afterward. "I've come to take you home, bro . . . I'm sorry but that just sounds too weird. Can I just say Ebenezer or Ace or something?"

Sure, whatever.

She turned back to young Scrooge. "I've come to take you home, Ace!" she said with fake delight.

"Home, little Lynn?" the boy asked.

"Yes!" she answered. "Home! Home for good! Father so much nicer now, and he wants me to bring you home right away!" She started dragging a delighted young Scrooge toward the door with childlike eagerness.

"A fine little girl," the Crystal Ghost said. "She seemed so fragile, but she was so stout. And she had such a big heart."

"She did," Scrooge the Ace agreed.

"She died a woman," the Ghost prompted.

"With children," the Nutcracker added.

The Crystal Ghost scowled at him. "That's _my _line!" she said.

"Yes," Scrooge the Ace answered. "One child."

"Your nephew," the Crystal Ghost said. "Finn. Okay, seriously, who picked _him_ for that role?"

Not you, too. Aerrow already got onto my case for that, and not kindly.

"Well, the kids have a point," the Nutcracker said.

Quiet, Ayrgyn! What are you still doing here anyway? Someone get him off the set! Please!

"Alright," Ayrgyn said. "I get it. I'm going. But I'll be back soon, you bet." And with that, he left. Thank all goodness, he left.

Scrooge frowned. He thought of the boy caroling at his warehouse just yesterday, and he wished that he had given him something instead of chasing him away. For the first time in a long time, Scrooge the Ace wished that he had helped someone just for the sake of helping because he now remembered what it was like to be the one needing it.

* * *

Author's Notes: Someone needs to tell Ayrgyn to get lost! Hey, could someone tie him up before he gets loose again?

Hmm, maybe the Dark Ace will learn something from all of this . . .


	4. Chapter 4: Happiness and Regret

Chapter 4: Happiness and Regret

Scrooge the Ace didn't have much time to react before the Crystal Ghost took him somewhere else. They were now back in the city, although obviously still in the past. In front of them was a warehouse much like Scrooge's, but there was something a bit more inviting about it. Scrooge gasped. "This was my master's warehouse," he said, "back when I was an apprentice!" Before the Ghost could lead him inside, he entered himself, eager to see the office of his old job.

The Ace stared, dumbfounded. "You made Terra Gale's Resistance leader my _master_?" he exclaimed in shock.

Yes. Wren is a fine actor for Fezziwig.

"It's Fezziwren, you domineering narrator!" Scrooge's old master said.

Sheesh, I wasn't expecting problems from _you_, Wren.

"You'll get problems from me if you call me by zat stupid name!"

Old Fezziwren . . .

"I'm not old, either!"

Okay! _As I was saying, _Fezziwren righted the pots and pans on his body . . . Must you wear those?

"Yes. It is my armor."

Very well. So anyway, he adjusted his "armor" and rubbed his hands together, laughing to himself. "Dick! Ace!" he called joyfully.

A young Scrooge the Ace, barely a man, stepped up to the job with a cheerful smile, but the other apprentice scowled. "My name'sssss not Dick, Fezziwren. It'ssss Repton."

The Crystal Ghost and Scrooge the Ace stared in disbelief. "_Repton?_" the Ace said. "My fellow apprentice was _Repton_? He's Dick Wilkins?"

"No, Acesssss," Repton responded angrily, lashing his tail, "I'm _Repton_ Wilkinsssssss. Right, narrator?"

If you wish to ruin your part like everyone else has, yes.

"Watch yourssself, narrator," Repton responded irritably. "You don't want to be a Raptor'ssss prey!"

"Come on, Repton!" Fezziwren said to his annoyed apprentice. "Help Ace set up for the party! No more work tonight, boys! After all, it's the eve of Noel, youngens! Get the shutters up, move the desks away, and bring out the food!"

Must you use a French term?

"What French term? I don't know French. I only know Galian."

That _is_ French.

"Oh. What Galian term did I use?"

_Noel_. It's supposed to be _Christmas_.

"Oh, come now! Everyone knows that Noel is Galian for Christmas! They know what I'm talking about!"

I guess they know now.

Together, the two apprentices cleared the floor while Fezziwren brought out the food. Soon people started coming. A fiddle player came (is that Ravess's theme music-playing Talon?) and started playing a lively tune. Soon the packed house was filled with dancers and everyone was having the time of their lives, including, maybe even especially, young Scrooge.

The fiddler was a talented player and struck up the tune of "Sir Roger de Coverley" in such a way that it was as if the people at the party were hearing it for the first time. That's when Mr. Fezziwren showed his true stuff and made the dance floor a spectacle. Everyone gathered round to watch.

Later, the dancing broke up, and everyone talked and laughed and socialized, wishing everyone else a Merry Christmas. The room was full of joy and cheery smiles.

The whole time, Scrooge the Ace was not quite himself—at least, not the self of his modern times. In fact, he was more than ever like the younger Scrooge, laughing and cheering and singing along with the fiddler's tune until finally the party ended and everyone retired.

"Not such a big deal," the Crystal Ghost said, "to make all those silly people happy. He didn't even spend a lot of money."

Scrooge the Ace was surprised by the comment, especially coming from a Storm Hawk. "How could you say that? It was too a big deal! He made our lives happy, made our jobs enjoyable. He always did what was right, no matter how little money and power it gave him." He stopped abruptly. Fighting for right? Bringing happiness in employment? Things he'd nearly forgotten about.

"What's wrong, Ace?" the Crystal Ghost asked.

"Nothing," Scrooge the Ace said. "I just thought maybe I should say a word or two to my clerk. That's all." After all, doing what was right and being happy was what Aerrow Cratchit was all about.

Then the Ace thought about all the trouble Aerrow had caused him, and his pity vanished. "On second thought," he said, "never mind."

The Crystal Ghost sighed. _I thought we almost had him there,_ she thought. She glanced at her watch. "Come," she said. "Time's running out."

"I thought we were time traveling," Scrooge the Ace said. "Doesn't that mean we can take all the time we want?"

"It's . . . complicated," the Ghost responded. When the Ace still looked at her dumbfounded, she said, "Just come on."

Next thing Scrooge the Ace knew, he was looking at his former self again. This time, he was looking at a bench on the side of a snowy lane, where his former self sat with—

"Ravess?" the Ace asked. "She's Belle, my old girl?"

"Ew," the Crystal Ghost said.

What, Ace. Do you not like my choice?

"Well," the Ace said, "she'd kill me before she'd ever go out with the real me, but . . . Uh, you could have done worse."

"I'll remember that," the Crystal Ghost said. Then she shivered disturbingly. "Unfortunately." She shivered again. "A creepy thought."

Belle . . .

"Ravess is my name!"

Okay, how about this: _Ravelle_ looked absolutely infuriated as she stared down the young Scrooge. "You don't care about me anymore!" she said. "All you care about now is your money and glory as a warrior!"

Ravess, two things: one, Scrooge _isn't_ a warrior in this, remember?

"Scrooge the Ace is," Ravelle insisted.

Oh, fine! And second, you're playing Belle. You're supposed to be subtle and understanding.

Ravelle huffed. "Any girl who is subtle when her fiancé is being a jerk is a pushover and fool."

Fine, then! Do it your way!

"I will!" Ravelle turned back to young Scrooge. "Now where was I? Oh yes. You're a rotten little git, you know that? You never spend any time with me. You're always just out doing battles or earning money!"

Young Scrooge looked startled. "Why, Ravelle, I love you. How can you doubt that?"

Ravelle shook her head. "You're a different person than the one I fell in love with." She stood up. "I'm about to leave. Right now. Right this minute. Now tell me, if I leave now, would you come after me?"

It took young Scrooge a while to answer. He seemed to yield to her. "You think I wouldn't," he said at last.

"I _know_ you wouldn't," Ravelle corrected. She scowled at him. "Now you listen here, mister. You once promised to marry me, but you hear me now. I will kiss a girl before I would ever marry a greedy monster like you."

"Ouch," the Crystal Ghost commented.

Young Scrooge looked troubled but not as troubled as he should have been. "Ravelle . . ."

But Ravelle was stomping away, shouting behind her, "I hope you're happy!"

Young Scrooge stood up. "Fine!" he snarled, clenching his fists. "I don't need her anyway." And he marched off in the opposite direction.

The present Scrooge the Ace shook with realization and sorrow. "Wait!" he yelled after his former self. "No, you're making a mistake! You _do_ need that girl. Go after her, you fool!"

"He can't hear you," the Crystal Ghost said.

Scrooge the Ace was miserable. These memories were tormenting his conscience. "Please, Storm Hawk," he begged the Ghost. "Show me no more. Let me go home."

"We have one more past event to visit," the Crystal Ghost insisted, and she grabbed his arm.

Scrooge now saw before him a cozy little living room that strongly resembled a Murk Raider ship. Wait, what in the . . . ? No, never mind. I won't bother asking. Anyway, there was Ravelle, a bit older, a bit grayer, but to Scrooge the Ace, she was still just as beautiful.

Suddenly someone burst into the door.

"Oh my gosh!" the Crystal Ghost shouted. "_Captain_ _Scabulous_ married _Ravess!_"

Scrooge the Ace grunted. "That's just wrong."

No, no. _Tut_ married _Ravelle_.

"No," Tut grunted. "_Captain _Tut married Ravelle."

In no way, shape, or form can you get me to call you _Captain Tut!_

"I've got an energy saber and a ship full of pirates."

Oh. Just kidding! Okay, Captain Tut, take it away.

"Oh, Ravelle!" Captain Tut called to his wife, "guess who I saw today!"

"Who?" Ravelle asked.

"Guess!"

"How am I supposed to know?"

Captain Tut laughed. "Why, I saw that Ace you used to be so fond of!"

Ravelle laughed with him. "Well, imagine that!" she said. "How's that old fart holding up?"

"Powerful, rich, and alone," Captain Tut answered. "How else?"

Scrooge the Ace bowed his head, knowing those words were true. It hurt him to hear it said aloud. "Storm Hawk," he said to the Ghost, "take me home."

"Don't blame me for you've seen," the Crystal Ghost said him, noting his accusing tone. "You're the one who made these memories."

"I said take me home!"

The Ghost didn't do anything. Scrooge the Ace scowled. What was wrong with her? Why wasn't she taking him back? In a fit of rage, he sprang upon her, but she simply stood there while he pressed against her. The Christmas Crystal was glowing brighter than ever, and Scrooge the Ace shut his blinded eyes. After that he knew only exhaustion and was aware, vaguely, that he was in his bedroom. He dropped into his bed and fell unconscious cursing the Crystal Ghost of Christmas Past.

* * *

Author's Notes: Wow. A whole chapter without Ayrgyn the Nutcracker! Maybe someone _did_ tie him up for me. Whoever it was, thank you!

**Ayrgyn: **Hey, look! It's the author! Hey there, Wolf! You wanna tell that guy to let me back in the story?

**Me: **Doggone it all! He's back.


	5. Chapter 5: Ghost of Christmas Presents

Chapter 5: The Ghost of Christmas Presents

Scrooge the Ace was woken again at the sound of the bell striking the hour of one again. He bolted awaked, staring around him, wondering from which direct the next Storm Hawk ghost would come. He wished to challenge the next one and not let his nerves be racked by surprise. Nothing could surprise him at this point, not a little bitty baby or a large tri-horned wallabeast, or even one of those strange Earthling creatures, such as an elephant.

He wasn't prepared, however, for nothing. Time passed, and the clock rung for the quarter of the hour, half the hour, three quarters, and then four o'clock. There was nothing. Nothing but strange light coming from the next room.

The light scared him more than anything. He didn't know what to think of it, and he could not challenge it. His curiosity, however, was greater than his fear. Slowly Scrooge the Ace rose from his bed and walked toward the door. "Finally!" a voice on the other side explained. "Come in, Scrooge the Ace!"

The Ace obeyed almost involuntarily. As soon as he walked into what should have been the hallway of the ship, he was taken aback.

He was back in his own quarters again. That was certain. There was his bunk and the stand where he would place his sword. But this room could hardly be his, could it? It was covered in evergreen plants and all around the room were lush treats of turkey, pie, pudding, sausages, and plump fruits. And sitting in the middle of it all, holding up a torch, was the next Storm Hawk. At first he seemed like a giant, but then Scrooge the Ace recognized him to be a Wallop.

The spirit smiled when he saw him. "Hello!" he greeted him enthusiastically, like a happy little child. He held up a wrapped package. "I got this for you!"

Scrooge the Ace took the package hesitantly. "Um, thanks? But, er, why?"

The Wallop smiled. "I'm the Ghost of Christmas Presents!"

No, no, Junko. You're the Ghost of Christmas _Present_, not presents.

"What's the difference?"

Well, present is now and presents are gifts.

"But I thought it was presents. Don't we get presents on Christmas?"

Yeah, but—

"I want to be the Ghost of Christmas Presents! He said that's what I was."

Who said?

"Hello, narrator! Don't worry. The Nutcracker is back and ready to save the girl from the evil Mouse King!"

Oh no. Not _you_ again! I thought I was rid of you!

Ayrgyn the Nutcracker looked around. "So where's the girl?"

Listen, Ayrgyn, you've got the wrong Christmas story, okay? Now just leave it.

"Oh, come on, narrator. You know you need me."

I really don't think so.

The Wallop spoke next. "Can I still be the Ghost of Christmas Presents? Please?"

Alright, alright already! You're the Ghost of Christmas Presents.

"Yippee! Okay Ace, open your present!"

Scrooge the Ace did as he was told. As soon as he did, his room faded away from him, and he found himself flying over the houses of London, clinging to the Ghost's robe. Scrooge the Ace looked down below him at the merriest sight he'd ever seen, a sight that would have made even a bright summer day dreary. People were laughing and singing carols and wishing each other good will and a merry Christmas.

However, Scrooge the Ace did notice a peculiar thing. A horse with fake reindeer antlers on it was galloping down the main street. A guy was running after him. "Bobtail!" he called. "Bobtail, come back!"

"Bobtail?" Scrooge the Ace wondered. He turned to the Ghost. "The horse from the 'Jingle Bells' song?"

The Ghost shrugged.

And then suddenly, there was the Nutcracker. "Yup, that's him!"

Get lost!

"Oh, come on, narrator. You know you need me."

I'm about to say something that I'll regret later, so everyone cover your ears. _Bleep!_

Scrooge and the Ghost—

"Hey!"

—_and the Nutcracker_ stopped at a little old shack, and Scrooge the Ace peered inside. "Storm Hawk," he asked, "why are we here? Why are we in a dump like this?"

"Oh, this?" the Ghost asked. "This is home of your overworked clerk, Aerrow Cratchit."

And then the Storm Hawk did something very strange. He stepped forward and sprinkled the house with his torch, blessing it. Poor Cratchit, who barely had anything to his name, was being blessed by the Ghost when so many other houses of wealthier families were overlooked!

Scrooge the Ace puzzled over this, not sure what to make of it. As he peered in the window, he saw Aerrow's wife Caroline setting the table with the help of her dear children.

"Wait a minute," said Mrs. Cratchit, "I'm married to _Aerrow_?"

You make a fine Caroline Cratchit, Starling. I don't know what the problem is.

"I'll tell you what the problem is! I'm a grown woman, and Aerrow is only a boy. He's not even of legal age yet. Why, under normal circumstances, I could be arrested for marrying him!"

Look, Starling, it's just a role. Now play along!

"Oh, alright. But my name's not _Caroline_, it's _Starling_. Starling Cratchit."

Huh. Fine. As you wish.

So _Starling_ Cratchit was setting the table with her three oldest children, eldest son Master Peter—

"My name's Pydge! Master Pydge! And I'm a Sky Scout!"

Okay, okay, eldest son Master Pydge, second daughter Miss Belinda and first daughter Martha.

"Yeah, I know them," Scrooge the Ace said. "Didn't Snipe try to train them as Talon Cadets?"

Not in this story, Ace, remember?

The other Cratchit children, Owsley and Griffin, came running in. "Mom, mom!" they shouted, laughing. "You won't believe it! Some old grandma got run over by a reindeer on the main street!"

Scrooge the Ace leaned toward the Ghost and whispered in his ear. "Wasn't Bobtail wearing reindeer antlers?"

Starling Cratchit didn't look amused. "That's nothing to laugh it, dears," she said. "It's not funny at all when someone gets hurt."

Then a door slammed a voice rang through the house. "We're home!"

Mrs. Cratchit smiled. "It's your father," she said to her children. "Go ahead, go greet him!"

"Daddy!" the boys shouted, and they ran to the door.

Aerrow Cratchit walked in with their youngest son on his shoulders and Owsley and Griffin clinging to his waist. He smiled at his family, greeting them each by turn and giving his wife and daughters a kiss.

Oh Aerrow, stop grimacing. It's not that bad. Most fourteen-year-old boys would love the chance to be told to kiss three girls.

"Yeah, girls that they have _feelings_ for!"

Well, maybe you'd be more inclined to play the part of a loving family man if Piper was Caroline Cratchit . . .

Aerrow got red in the face. "No, I'm good. This great as is."

Good. We'll continue, then.

Aerrow Cratchit set his youngest son, Tiny Tim, down into a chair. Tiny Tim began to . . . Wait, why is he growling at me?

"I don't think he liked being called Tiny Tim," Aerrow Cratchit said. "What if you called him Tiny Radarr?"

Oh, alright, but why doesn't he have a crutch?

Aerrow smiled. "The only thing physically wrong with Tiny Radarr is that he's mute."

But that's not how . . . oh, bother. I give up.

They all sat down to dinner, all saying how wonderful it was to be together, and being kind and cheerful. Yet of food there was little, and every time Tiny Radarr coughed, Aerrow and Starling would exchange looks of anxiety. For some strange reason, it scared Scrooge the Ace.

The Ace was surprised to hear someone next to him sobbing. "There, there, you big Ghost," the Nutcracker was saying. "Big guys don't cry."

"What's the matter?" Scrooge the Ace asked.

"Tiny Radarr!" the Ghost sobbed. "Tiny Radarr!"

"What's wrong with him?" Scrooge asked. Then it dawned on him. "Spirit," he asked, "will he live?"

The Ghost sniffled some before he answered. "I see an empty chair where Tiny Radarr used to sit."

They were interrupted by a sound from within the house. "To Scrooge the Ace!" Aerrow Cratchit said a toast to. "The founder of our great feast!"

"Founder of our feast indeed!" Starling snarled. "Why, look at our pitiful feast! If Scrooge was such a man as to bless, your plates would be filled." She turned to her husband. "The retched man leaves you overworked and underpaid. Is that anyone to give thanks to?"

"Starling, please," Mr. Cratchit begged. "The children. The holiday."

"Alright," said Mrs. Cratchit. "I'll do it for your sake, and the children's, and for the holiday." She held up her glass next to his. "To Scrooge the Ace! Long life to him!"

Yet as they all drank their toast to him, Scrooge the Ace was not comforted. "Oo," the Nutcracker commented, "looks like you're not the most popular man in town!"

"Shut it!" the Ace ordered.

No sooner had he said it that the Ghost had taken them into the air again, big tears still falling from his face. "Sorry," he said. "I just couldn't take it anymore!"

"So where to now, Ghost of Presents?" Ayrgyn asked.

The Ghost's face lit up. "A very fun place!" he answered. "You'll see." And they flew away into the darkness.

* * *

Author's Notes: I'm starting to loose confidence in my narrator . . .


	6. Chapter 6: Christmas Cheer

Author's Notes: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!! Don't hurt me! *pelted by rotten fruit* Now hold on just minute. Let me explain . . . *dodges flying ax* I'm sorry it's been about a year since I update— *dodges flying pitchforks* —but if you kill me, I'll never finish! *objects stop being thrown* Thank you. I know, I know, I have no excuse. But here is is for _this_ Christmas! That's good, right? *cringes under glares* I'll just go hide in my corner now and let you read the story . . .

* * *

Chapter 6: Christmas Cheer

As they flew, the Ghost would stop momentarily. At first, Scrooge the Ace didn't know why, but then he found that the Ghost was blessing people. And not people he would have expected, either. They were not wealthy or well and some not even in proper health, but they were the poor, the hungry, the suffering. They were the people who had little to be happy about and yet were abundantly happy anyway.

One place they stopped was a little orphanage where the children were thin and ragged and without families. Yet they danced and clapped and cheered to their favorite Christmas carols and games.

He passed by over sailors' heads, sailors who perhaps hadn't been home in years and hadn't seen their families since those many years ago when they took to the skies of Atmos. Yet they sang heartily and gave a toast to the season.

And then there were miners, where the Cyclonians toiled away at in the tunnels as they dug out raw crystals and crystal dust. Yet their merry voice rose in unison as they worked.

And there were some that the Ghost was not quick to bless and got quite a bit of

commentary from the Nutcracker. The Ace would have never guessed that these people would dance and sing and feast and enjoy the holiday, but they were: Murk Raiders and Raptors, Talons and Night Crawlers.

"Why do they celebrate?" Scrooge the Ace wondered aloud.

The Ghost smiled. "They are full of Christmas cheer!" he answered happily.

The Ghost stopped at another house, this cheery and festive like the rest of them. "Well, here we are!" he said happily.

"Where's here?" Scrooge the Ace asked.

"Why, your nephew's!"

"Finn's place?"

Scrooge peered into the window. Indeed, there was Finn and all his merry party, including a fine young lady by the name of Dove.

"Yes, I 'ave my name!"

Yeah, well, Charles Dickens never mentioned Fred's wife's name, so yes, you get your name!

Dove, Finn's wife, smiled.

"Cool, dude! I'm married to Dove! I could get used to his . . ."

Dove scowled at him. "Don't."

Finn was talking to everyone else, laughing as he did. "He said Christmas was a humbug!" he cried in his hysterics. "And he believed it, too!"

"Shame on him, then!" Dove said indignantly.

"He's a funny old man," was Finn's answer, "but as bad as he is, I got nothing against the guy."

"Yes," Dove said, eyeing him, "love 'im for 'is money."

"Oh, his money's not of much use," Finn insisted. "He's not happy with it and no one else is. In the end it's only biting him back."

"I have no patience for that man!" Dove spat.

But Finn got a fine twinkle in his eye that made Scrooge the Ace do a double take. "I do," Finn said. "I'm sorry for the poor old man. He's the only one who suffers when he acts so . . . bad."

You were supposed to say, 'He's the only one who suffers from his ill whims.'

"But I don't even know what that means, dude!"

Because you're a fool, and I've a curse on me that's making me narrate for a stupid actor like you.

"Ouch. That hurts, dude."

Just continue.

"Okay, fine!" Finn turned back to his audience. "Besides, I guess he doesn't lose much. He certainly doesn't lose much of a dinner."

"Why, I think it a very good dinner," Dove insisted, flashing him a smile.

"Good to hear!" Finn exclaimed, still in a good mood. "What do you say, Topper?"

"My name's not Topper, eh?! It's Billy Rex!"

You can't have your name as Billy Rex. It must be Topper.

"You're lettin' everyone else have a least part of their name, eh? Why not me?"

Oh, alright, you're Billy Topper."

"Rock on, eh!"

Good, good, whatever. Just say your lines already.

"Oh, right." Billy Topper eyed one of Dove's sisters, Marge, with interest and remarked, "A fun-loving bachelor like me is just a wretched outcast, eh? So I guess it's not my place to say."

Marge giggled, then scowled. "Hey, narrator, why do I have to be Dove's sister?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Dove said.

Because that's the way I made it. Deal with it!

After dinner, Scrooge the Ace and the Ghost of Christmas Presents—

"Pardon me."

—_and the Nutcracker_ watched as the delicious dinner was finished and the company played lovely music. Billy Topper showed his stuff on the bass, and Dove played lovely little songs on her harp. Despite Scrooge the Ace's wish to be disgusted, he found himself softening up more and more as he watched.

Then it was time for a game of Blind Man's Bluff. Oh, come now, Billy Topper, I know you're not really blind. You're chasing Marge around like a maniac!

"I am too blind! Oh, who's this pretty young lady I've caught!"

Yes, and slipping a ring on that "pretty young lady" is an accident, too, I suppose?

"Hey, you're the one who gave me a role in which I'm supposed to like Marge, of all people."

"Is that a bad thing?!"

"Of course not, it's just . . ."

"Oh, forget you, Billy!" And she whacked him on the head with a shovel.

Ouch. Okay, back to the party and Scrooge.

Soon the game became How, When, and Where, in which Scrooge the Ace, completely caught up with the action, began shouting out answers, forgetting all about not being heard, for he had a sharp mind.

"Yes, I do, and don't you for get it! You can even go tell Aerrow that while you're at it!"

The Ghost turned to Scrooge. "I'm glad you're having fun," he said, "but we should probably go now."

"Hold on, Storm Hawk," Scrooge the Ace answered. "After this one game.

The game was Yes and No. Finn went first. When he had thought up something, he was met with a flurry of question, to which he could only answer yes or no. After many questions were asked, it was found that he was thinking of a live animal that lived in London and walked its very streets, although it was never killed in the market. It was a rather disagreeable and savage animal that growled and grunted sometimes. At last, Marge cried out, "Oh, I know! I know what it is!"

Scrooge the Ace was relieved of this, for he was into the game, too, and he couldn't for the life of him think of what this animal was.

Finn smiled at Marge and crossed his arms. "So what is it?" he begged of her.

Marge was laughing so hard you could hardly here her answer. "It's your Uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge!"

Finn frowned. "_Please_ don't call him my uncle. I know it's just a performance-thingy, but _please!_"

Billy Topper slapped the chair. "I should have won, then," he said. "I guess that it was a bog howler. Scrooge the Ace is just as much a bog howler as any furry beast on Terra Gruesomus!"

Scrooge the Ace's face fell. "Ooh," the Nutcracker commented. "That wasn't very nice."

"Well, look!" Finn exclaimed to his party. "Even without being here, we had fun with him!" He held up his glass. "To Scrooge the Ace!"

Everyone else held up their glasses. "To Scrooge the Ace!"

"That's a good note to leave on," the Nutcracker said.

The Ghost nodded and then handed Scrooge a present. "Come on!" he said cheerfully. "We still have more places to go! Open your present!"

So Scrooge the Ace opened the present. The next thing he knew, he was going with the Ghost of Christmas Presents—

"Ahem."

—_and the Nutcracker_ all over the Terra of London. The Spirit blessed the most unlikely places: the poorhouse, the hospital, and prisons, both Cyclonian and free Atmosian. Those in lands foreign of the ones they were raised were in high spirits because of the day. And through all this, Scrooge the Ace looked on with . . . well, pity, for he didn't know that such joy could be found in such humble places as apposed to places of higher ranks and standards.

One thing that Scrooge noticed that was rather strange was that, while he didn't seem to be getting much older, the Ghost seemed to age by the minute, growing very old compared to the young Wallop he once was. . . .

"Hey, narrator, you're going to make me young again after this, aren't you?"

Of course I am. How can you have so little faith in me?

"Well, it's just that you killed Carver and you've only been able to bring him back as a ghost . . ."

Well, do you _want_ Carver to come back and try to kill your Sky Knight again?

"Well, no but—"

Then don't criticize me! Now where was I? Oh, yes. . . . When Scrooge the Ace finally couldn't stand his curiosity anymore, he asked the Ghost, "Are spirits' lives short?"

"Oh, yes, very," the Ghost answered, somehow still cheerful and upbeat. "My time's up tonight!"

"Tonight?" Scrooge the Ace answered.

"Yes," the Nutcracker said. "Tonight at midnight." He leaned toward the Ace's ear and put his hand over his mouth as he whispered into it, "Tragic, isn't it?"

Then the Ace noticed something under the Ghost's robe. "Why, Storm Hawk!" he exclaimed. "There's something under your cloak!"

"I know," the Ghost answered, unaffected.

"Is that a foot or a hoof?" Scrooge asked.

"It might be a claw for what's on it," the Ghost answered. He lifted his robe and revealed too little ones in the cloak, a little Wallop baby and a girl about Junko's age.

"Yeah, how did _I _get this role? This is supposed to be a role for a young girl!"

Well, Princess Peregrine—

"Perry."

Well, Perry, you see, there are no little girl characters in _Storm Hawks_ so I had to use the youngest spare girl I could find.

"Oh, fine! But I still hate being under Junko's robe, especially with a baby like Tynki!"

The two children were yellow, meager, ragged, scowling, and just plain ugly, but they looked helpless and pitiful. There was nothing angelic about them, only demonic. Scrooge the Ace was horrified.

The Nutcracker was the first to speak. "That's, um . . . some fine kids ya got there, Ghost of Presents."

"They're not mine," the Ghost answered, looking down at them with a frown. But then he smiled. "But they are kinda cute."

The girl glared at him. "I'm forgetting you said that."

The Ghost turned back to the Ace. "They're Man's," he said. "They come to me to comfort them and protect them from their fathers. The boy is Ignorance."

"Ahhh!"

What's he saying?

"He's saying he wants to be called 'Ignorant Tynki'," the Ghost said.

Why would anyone want to be called ignorant? And how do you understand it?

The Ghost shrugged. "I don't know." He then gestured to the girl. "The girl is Want."

"Princess Want!"

How am I supposed to call a daughter of Man Princess?

"You tell me."

Oh, alright, you can be Princess Want. Sheesh!

The Ghost turned back to Scrooge the Ace. "Beware them both," he warned, "and any other like them, but beware the boy most of all. I see Doom written on his forehead. Oh, boy, I sound like Stork!"

Scrooge the Ace looked on them with pity. "Don't they have some refuge or resources?"

The Spirit only narrowed his eyes. "Are there no prisons?" he asked, repeating Scrooge words of earlier. "Are there no workhouses?"

The Ace looked away.

Then the clock's bell rang the twelfth hour. Twelve times it rang, and the last hung in the air as in revelation.

When Scrooge the Ace turned back, the Ghost of Christmas Presents was gone. Remembering what Carver Marley had said, he listened to the vibration of the last gong die out and then slowly raised his head to see a hooded and draped Phantom drifting toward him from out of the shadows as if out of the mist.

"Oh, boy," said the Nutcracker. "Now isn't that creepy."

* * *

Author's Notes: Don't worry, the narrator didn't _really_ kill off Junko. If he did, I'll kill him personally.

Merry Christmas, everyone!


	7. Chapter 7: The Ghost of Christmas Doom

Chapter 7: The Ghost of Christmas Doom

The Phantom approached slowly, gravely, and silently. Scrooge the Ace found himself down on one knee when the Spirit got close, for it seemed to contaminate the very air with doom and misery. Its hooded black garment covered all but its one outstretched green hand; if not for this, it would blend in completely with the darkness. It was a tall and stately, and its mysterious presence filled the Ace with dread.

"W-who are you?" Scrooge the Ace asked, trembling.

The Phantom neither moved nor spoke.

"Are . . . are you the Ghost of Christmas Future?"

"Nooooo," the Ghost said in a spooky voice. "I am the Ghost of Christmas _Doooooom_."

"Okay," the Nutcracker commented. He put an arm around Scrooge and pointed at the Specter. "Now _that_ is just creepy."

Shut up, Nutcracker! And as for _you_, Phantom, you are the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, not Doom. And you're not supposed to talk!

"No," the Ghost answered without taking off his hood, "I am the Ghost of Christmas _Doom_. Because in the future, we're all doomed."

Fine! Just don't talk anymore!

The Ghost turned his hooded face back to Scrooge.

"You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened but will happen in the future," the Ace pursued. "Am I right, Spirit?"

The Ghost inclined its head in answer.

Scrooge nodded. "Ghost of Doom," he said, "I fear you more than any other spirit, but your purpose seems to be a good one, even though you are a Storm Hawk, so . . . lead on, Spirit. Lead on!"

The Phantom turned around and headed for the city. Scrooge followed behind, unsure of what he was about to see.

Scrooge the Ace couldn't tell how, but the city seemed to spring up on them. They ended up at the heart of the city. They came upon a group of merchants, who were hurrying up and down, checking the time, and conversing in groups, coins chinking in their pockets. There were four of them standing all together: Snipe, Hoerk, Spitz, and Lugey.

"—don't know much about the situation," Snipe stated. "All I know is that ee's dead."

"When'd he die?" Hoerk asked.

"Last night, so I hear," Snipe answered.

"What'sssss happened to 'im?" Spitz lisped. "Thought he'd never die."

"Atmos knows," Snipe said with a yawn. "All I know is that he'll be lyin' with the maggots soon."

"What's he done with his money and war prizes?" Lugey asked.

"Beats me," Snipe answered with another yawn. "Probably left it to Cyclonia, or Cyclonis herself. He's certainly left _me_ none. That's all _I _know!"

The others grunted in agreement.

"Cheap funeral, I bet," Snipe continued. "Don't know who'd show up for _his_ burying." He looked at the others. "Think we ought to go? Cyclonis might like it if we did."

"I'll go if there's a lunch," Lugey said. "Got to eat, you know."

"Well, then, I don't really want to go," Snipe grumbled. "I could care less about going to that man's funeral. Besides, I think I was one of his only friends, if you could call me a friend! Stupid guy always was picking on me though."

Suddenly, the Phantom glided in front of Scrooge. Crying out in fright, Scrooge the Ace ducked as the Phantom floated before him. "Please, Storm Hawk," the Ace begged, "tell me, who were those men talking about?"

But the Ghost of Christmas Doom only pointed further down the street.

There were two more men there. Scrooge knew them quite well. They were men of his business, men of Cyclonia: I. J. Domiwick and Mr. Moss.

They greeted each other quite normally. Domiwick approached first and said, "How are you?"

"Howdy to ya," Mr. Moss answered back.

"That Dark Old Scratch finally got a taste of his own medicine, aye?" Domiwick said.

"So I heard," Mr. Moss drawled. He shivered. "Sure is cold out here."

"It's alright for Christmastime," Domiwick responded. "You like to skate any?"

"Why in hell would you ask that?" Mr. Moss responded. "I'm from a _swamp_, idiot!"

Oh, Mr. Moss, watch your language. And right now, you're not from a swamp, you're from London.

"I don't care! It's damn cold out here."

Oh, quite your whining and get on with the story.

"Not much else to say except . . . bye!"

"Bye!" Domiwick called in response as he walked by.

That was their greeting, their exchange, and their parting. All of it.

"Gosh," the Nutcracker said. "This must have been one horrible guy for people to be so uncaring." Then he thought about it. "Or they could just be happy," he decided. "You know, I never really liked funerals myself." He looked at his fingernails. "Black was never my color."

Scrooge the Ace didn't know what to think. Whoever this poor man was, no one seemed to care that he was gone. What horrible things must he have done to not be missed?

These people could very well be describing Carver Marley's death, but that was the past, and this is the future. Scrooge could think of no one who concerned him who fit the criteria of what was being said. Wondering who it could be, he looked around for his future self, looking for a hint or clue, but he was not there among the other warriors and merchants. Knowing himself, Scrooge wasn't surprised, but he wondered why the Phantom had brought him here if the future Ace was not here.

Suddenly, the Phantom was before him again. There was a sweep of its green, clammy hand, and they were in another part of town.

The streets were narrow, more like alleys than streets, and there was a foul smell in the air. The houses were falling apart, with peeling paint, hanging shutters, broken windows, and tattered roofs. The few people around were staggering, half-naked and drunk, filthy and slipshod. They grumbled and grunted as they staggered past the Ace. Hmm, I wonder why the lot of them were wearing part of Murk Raider uniforms?

Arygyn the Nutcracker took a good look at the place, hands on his hips. "Well," he said, "this looks like a pleasant place, doesn't it? Such fine people!"

"You've _got_ to be kidding me!" Scrooge grumbled.

The Nutcracker shrugged. "I call 'em like I seem 'em!"

A cold wind gushed over the Ace as the Phantom's hand appeared beside him, pointing to a little shop with a penthouse roof that was falling in on itself. "What's in there, Specter?" Scrooge asked.

But the Phantom didn't answer. Instead, the Ace exclaimed in fright as the house rushed up toward him. He closed his eyes and covered his face, expecting to be hit by the wall.

But nothing happened. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He was inside the shop.

And the Nutcracker was smirking at him. "Got a little scared there, didn't you?"

"I don't get scared," Scrooge answered.

"Right, I forgot," Arygyn teased. "The great Ace is _never_ scared!"

"Are you mocking me?"

"Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not."

"You are!"

"It would be wrong of your judgment to assume I was, but also wrong to assume I wasn't."

"What?!" Scrooge the Ace exclaimed in irritation.

But Arygyn the Nutcracker ignored him and continued talking. "Now suppose I was, then you would be in the right, but suppose I was not, and you would be in the wrong. And seeing as it is important you must be right, you must choose the one that will mean I am wrong. If the one you choose means I am right . . ."

Ah, enough! You're making _my_ head hurt!

"Wait, what's the Spirit pointing at?" Scrooge wondered aloud.

The room was rather detestable. Heaped upon the floor were rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights, pieces of iron, dirty rags, and even bones, though whether or not they were humanoid Scrooge could not be sure.

There was a man behind the counter with a smug expression on his face, a man who went by the name—

"Colonel!" the Ace exclaimed.

No, Ace. That's Joe.

"No," the man behind the counter said, standing up on his four legs. "I prefer to be called _Colonel_ Joe."

Colonel . . . ! Oh, fine, whatever.

Suddenly, a three familiar faces burst into the room. One was a girl with dark, sinister violet eyes and deep black hair. She was clothed in a black robe, her cape flowing out behind her, and she had a sack on her back. Then another one entered, this woman being covered in light blue fur and having rabbit-like ears and face, hocks instead of knees, and a dog-like tail. She also had a pack with her. They were followed by another man, this one fat and one-eyed and having scaly skin.

The four people now in the shop stood staring at each other in astonishment. At last, the second woman spoke. "Master Cyclonis?" she said to the first one in astonishment. She turned to the man who had followed her in. "Eyeball?" She looked over the counter. "Colonel."

"Colonel _Joe_," Colonel Joe corrected. He gave a slight nod of his head. "Good to see you, Suzy Lu."

Hold on. She's not Suzy Ly right now; she's Mrs. Dilber.

"No, right now I'm Suzy Dilber, eh?"

Of course. Hold on a second while I roll my eyes at your stubbornness.

"Let the charwoman go first!" Master Cyclonis cried.

"But that would mean _you_ go first!" Eyeball pointed out.

"Of course," Cyclonis answered in a calm voice. "And then the laundress will go."

"That's me, eh?!" Suzy Dilber stated.

"And then the undertaker's man."

"Great," Eyeball grumbled. "Save me for last, why don't ya?"

"Gladly," Cyclonis answered.

"I was being sarcastic."

Colonel Joe smiled at them all. "Come in, come in, all of you. Anyone with business is a friend of mine, and you're all old acquaintances. I'll get the door. I insist. Come in, come in."

As soon as he closed the door, Master Cyclonis threw her bundle on Colonel Joe's desk. "Weird I got ahead of you, isn't it, Dilber?" she said. "But everyone has to take care of themselves. _He _always did!"

"That's true, eh?" Suzy agreed.

"Well, stop lookin' at us as if I'm about to pick your pockets, woman," the Master scoffed. "You have nothing to be afraid of here. Who's worse off for a few less things? Not a dead man."

"Certainly not, eh?" Dilber agreed.

"If that wicked old screw wanted to keep them when he was dead," continued Cyclonis, "then why wasn't he natural in life? If he had, maybe someone would have been tending to him when Death came to call, instead of just gasping out his last breath in the still emptiness they call his chambers."

"Can't be anymore right than that, eh?" Suzy Dilber agreed. "Seems you and I are actually on the same page for once, eh?"

Master Cyclonis turned to Colonel Joe. "Opened the sack, Colonel, and tell me what you owe me. I'm not ashamed of what's inside. I've committed not sin that I know of."

But before Joe opened Cyclonis's sack, Eyeball shoved hers out of the way and placed his in front of the Colonel. "Open _this_ instead."

Not caring either way, Colonel Joe did just that. There wasn't an enormous amount of value, just a seal or two, a pen-case, and buttons, brooches, and pins found on Cyclonian uniforms. Wait, Cyclonia uniforms? Oh, never mind. Anyway, Joe chalked up the sums right away.

Eyeball nodded. "I'll take that amount," he said. "Who's next?"

Suzy Dilber was next. She had sheet and towels, a couple sets of mostly whole Cyclonian uniforms, two well-made daggers, an energy whip in good shape, and a few Cyclonian boots. Again with the Cyclonian items.

"Not much else to choose from as props, eh?" Suzy argued.

Ah, leave it to this author to not provide proper props!

Colonel Joe couldn't help overpaying Dilber. "Giving women more than they deserve is a weakness of mine," Joe said with a grin. "And if you point out that I own you one less penny, I'll knock off half-a-crown."

Cyclonis stepped forward again, her face veiled by her hood. "Now see _my_ plunder, Colonel."

Well, the bundle was so bulky that, rather than open it on the table, Colonel Joe got down low on his spider-like legs and opened the sack on the ground. He dragged out a dark, heavy roll of some sort of cloth. "What's this?" he gasped. "Bed curtains?"

Cyclonis chuckled a wicked chuckle. "That's exactly what they're called," she answered.

Colonel Joe searched her face. "You mean you took them down, rings and all?"

"Yes, I did," the Master answered coolly. "Why not?"

"Well, here's a lady who knows how to make her fortune!" the Colonel exclaimed.

"Well, might as get all I can out of him even though he's dead," Cyclonis stated. "Now don't drop the oil on the blankets."

"His blankets?" asked Joe.

"Who's else's would they be?" Cyclonis asked. "He's not going to miss them."

"He didn't die from illness, did he?" Colonel Joe asked, eyeing Master Cyclonis with suspicion. "Nothing contagious I can get from these?"

"You don't need to worry about that," Cyclonis assured. "They're perfectly safe. And look, I have his shirt, too. No hole, hardly a single thread out of place. It's in perfect condition. They would have wasted it if I hadn't grabbed it?"

"Where'd you grab it from?" asked old Colonel Joe.

Cyclonis smirked, an expression that looked more like a sneer. "They were going to bury him in it," she said with a slight chuckle of amusement. "Bury a perfectly good shirt. But I took it right off his dead body!"

The other three just looked sick to their stomachs. Master Cyclonis only laughed all the more when Colonel Joe paid her a sack of coins. "It seems he profits us most in death, doesn't he?" she said.

The others only smiled weak smiles.

Scrooge the Ace stared in horror. They stole from a dead man and sold the stolen goods to a shop owner who _knew_ the goods were stolen. And here Master Cyclonis had stolen items taken right off the corpse itself. It horrified him to think that these people would have sold the dead man's _body_ if they thought it would profit them!

Arygyn stepped up beside him. "Real pleasant people you've got working for you, don't ya?"

Scrooge turned to the Phantom, shuddering. "Spirit," he said, "I think I understand. You're telling me this fate of this man could be my own as well."

* * *

Author's Notes: Ooh, the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come—pardon me, I mean the Ghost of Christmas _Doom_—can talk. I bet ya'll know who it is! If you're a _Storm Hawks_ fan, it's pretty obvious.


	8. Chapter 8: The Doom to Face

Chapter 8: The Doom to Face

"Great Atmos, what is this?"

Scrooge the Ace and the Ghost of Christmas Doom—

"Ahem."

—_and Arygyn the Nutcracker_ were in a dark room, a bed chamber on a Cyclonian Destroyer. And there, lying in the bed, was something covered up by a mere white sheet.

"Huh," the Nutcracker said. "Cool. A dead man."

Scrooge looked around. Yes, the thing under the sheet was a dead man . . . and no one was here to mourn. "Spirit," he asked, his voice shaking, "is this the man those people spoke of, the ones they stole from?

The Ghost of Christmas Doom nodded.

The Ace frowned deeply. "Phantom," he said, "if there's anyone who feels anything for the man's death, show me now."

Darkness over came them all. Scrooge blinked his eyes as he found himself in another home. A woman named Caroline is waiting by the door. "Hey, I know her!" Scrooge exclaimed. "She's the Sky Knight of the Screaming Queens!"

Yes, but here, she's just Caroline.

"Gosh, those Screaming Queens sure no how to dress!" Arygyn the Nutcracker said. Scrooge the Ace gave him a weird look, and the Phantom swung his head toward him as if in disgust. I thought that was a bit weird myself.

At that moment, Caroline's husband, Burner, walked in.

"Well, _he_ gets his name!"

Yes, well, you see, Charles Dickens didn't give Caroline's husband a name.

This poor family, you see, was in debt to a very rich man. Burner came in, looking like he was ashamed of some joy he had.

Caroline ran to him. "What's the news, Burner?"

Burner looked grim. "Bad," he answered.

"Are we done for?" Caroline asked for concern. "Oh, dear, there's always hope! What if he relents?"

"He's past relenting," Burner said. "He's dead."

Caroline blinked. "Dead? That means . . . that means . . ."

Burner smiled. "We are not done for! We may yet pay off our debt if we get a charitable creditor. We can sleep easier tonight, Caroline."

Scrooge the Ace felt an ache in his heart. He had asked the Ghost for some emotion for this man's death, and all the Phantom could show him was pleasure. "Please, Spirit," he begged. "Show me some sorrow caused by this man's passing!"

The scene changed once more. Scrooge then found himself in the Cratchits' house. The family was all sitting around the fireplace except for Aerrow and Tiny Radarr. The house was quiet, far too quiet.

Starling stood up. "Oh, where is your father? He should be home by now."

"He's been walking slow recently," Master Pydge said.

There was a long pause. Then Starling said, "I've known him to walk very fast with . . . with Tiny Radarr on his shoulder. Very fast, indeed."

"So have I," said Owsley, sniffling.

"But he was very light," Starling added. "Very light indeed."

At last, the door opened. Aerrow stepped in and put his coat, greeting them all quietly.

At first, everything seemed normal . . . just quieter. They were eating dinner when Starling asked, "So . . . you're going down on a Sunday."

Aerrow hesitated before he said, "Yes, I promised it to be a Sunday." Tears began to fall from his eyes. "Oh, Radarr."

He glanced up at the others, his eyes glistening. Sniffling, he wiped his nose. "I saw Finn today," he said. "He was so kind, telling us how sorry he was for us and how he could come to our aid if we ever need it."

"I know he's a good soul," Starling said with a smile, "although a little on the wild side sometimes."

"Yes, he . . . he offered to put Pydge in a better situation."

Pydge smiled at this.

Aerrow stared down at the table, although he was not seeing it. "We'll never forget our Tiny Radarr."

Scrooge the Ace was confused by all of this. "Specter," he said to the Ghost, "this tells me of another's death. Tell me, who was the man we saw lying there in the bed chamber."

Suddenly they were on the streets again. The Specter pointed. "Hey, look, Acey," the Nutcracker exclaimed, "it's your shop!"

And indeed it was. But the furniture was all out of order. Scrooge was even more scared and more confused.

Suddenly they were before an iron gate. The Phantom raised its green, clammy hand, and the gate clanked open. Scrooge the Ace—

"You keep forgetting me!"

—_and Arygyn the Nutcracker _followed the Specter into a churchyard. Here the lowly man that many had spoke of so horribly lay buried under the ground. It was a worthy place for such a man. It was surrounded by houses and overrun with grasses and weeds that choked each other out, feeding on the nutrients of the dead.

"That sounds kind of creepy, narrator. I thought this was supposed to be a Christmas story."

If you don't like it, Arygyn, get out of the story and give me a break, for heaven's sake!

"No, I think I'll stick around."

I was afraid you'd say that.

The Phantom stopped and pointed to one grave in particular.

Scrooge was trembling now. "Spirit," he said, "before I approach that grave, tell me this: Are these the shadows of things that will be or only of things that may be?"

The Specter did not answer. It only continued to point to the grave.

"Please, Spirit," Scrooge begged, "tell me."

But the Phantom remained silent.

The Ace drew toward the grave and peered down into its dark depths. He tried to read the name on the stone, but it was covered in snow. "Spirit," he asked, "whose lonely grave is this?"

Wait a minute. Why is the Phantom taking off his hood?

The Ghost of Christmas Doom pulled off his hood to reveal his green, clammy-skinned face. "It's your _doom_, Dark Ace!"

Scrooge blinked in surprise. "Wait a minute," he said. "I was trembling in fear before the Storm Hawks' Merb pilot?"

Stork, put your hood back on! And stop talking!

"You stop talking!" the Ghost shouted back. "You're the one with the big booming voice explain every little thing that's going on."

"That's what I said," the Ace grumbled.

Then Scrooge's face paled. "Wait," he said, "so _I _was the man who lay upon the bed?"

"Yup," Stork said.

"This grave is mine?"

Stork pulled out a wrench and clanked it against the stone. The snow fell off the stone to reveal the name _Scrooge the Ace_.

"No!" Scrooge cried in agony. "Merb, tell me I can change the writing on this stone!"

The Ghost folded his arms. "Maybe you can and maybe you can't."

"I'm not the same man I used to be!" the Ace cried desperately. "I will keep Christmas in my heart always! I will be considerate and kind to others! I will take care of my fellow man!"

"I'd like to see that happen," the Specter grumbled.

"Please!" Scrooge cried.

"Well," the Ghost said, stopping to think, "maybe." He stepped toward Scrooge the Ace, who now looked terrified. "Then again," the Specter said, "maybe _not!_" And with that, he kicked Scrooge square in the chest so he fell into the grave.

Scrooge stared up at the Phantom as he fell, screaming at the top of his lungs. The images around him began to blur. He heard the Nutcracker's voice call down to him, "Might as well give it a go, Acey!"

The Phantom sank away in his vision and dwindled into a bedpost. Instead of landing on a wooden coffin, Scrooge bounced on top of his own bed safe within the Cyclonian Destroyer.

* * *

Author's Notes: Yup, ya'll had it right. The Ghost of Christmas Doom was Stork!

Think the Ace learned his lesson yet?


	9. Chapter 9: The Blessing of Tiny Radarr

Chapter 9: The Blessing of Tiny Radarr

Yes, the bed was Scrooge the Ace's own, and the ship was his own, and the sword leaning against the bunk was his own. The Ghost of Christmas Doom was gone, and so was Arygyn the Nutcracker.

Excited, Scrooge leapt out of bed. "Ah, the Storm Hawks! I will remember your lessons! Oh, Carver Marley! You didn't come in vain, Carver!"

He looked at the bed curtains. "They're still here!" he cried. "Rings and all! Still here! And those shadows can be changed! I _know_ it!"

He started to pull on his Cyclonian uniform, only to get tangled in it. "I . . . I don't know what to do first!" he exclaimed. "I'm as light as a feather, as merry as a boy, as giddy as a drunken Murk Raider, and as happy as a phoenix with his crystal!"

He looked around. "There's the battle glider that began to glide. There's the door where Carver came in. There's the corner where the Wallop spirit had sat. There's the window where I saw all the wondering Talon spirits! It all happened! It's all true!"

Then the Ace stopped and thought. "Wait," he thought, "how long was I with the Storm Hawks? What day is it? What month is it? What _year?_"

Scrooge the Ace ran to the window and looked down to see the young boy Gareth out for a walk. Here, he thought, was someone he could ask. "Excuse me, boy," he called. "What day is it?"

Gareth peered up at him incredulously. "What _day_ is it?!"

"Yes," the Ace said impatiently. "What is today?"

"Gosh, sir," Gareth said. "It's _Christmas Day!_"

"Christmas Day," Scrooge said. "I haven't missed it. The Storm Hawks did it all in one night. Well, of course they did! They can do whatever they want!"

He paid attention to the boy again. "Do you know the Poulterer's in the next street?"

"Sure do!" Gareth called back.

"Wonderful boy!" the Ace said to himself. Then to the boy, "Do you know if they've sold the prize turkey? Not the small one; the big one."

"The one as big as me?" Gareth asked.

"What a delightful boy! Yes, that one!"

"It's hanging there now!"

"Will you go and buy it for me?"

The boy just stared at him. "You must be crazy, sir!"

"No, I'm serious. Go and bring the man here so that I may give him directions. Do it, and I'll give you twenty dollars. Bring the man back in less than five minutes, and I'll give you fifty!"

The boy was off like a shot.

"I'll send it to Aerrow Cratchit's!" the Ace thought, cackling. "He'll be so surprised! He won't know who sent it! Great Atmos, it will be _twice_ the size of Tiny Radarr!"

He wrote the address in a rather rushed manner before running down the ramp of the Destroyer as if his life depended on it.

There was the poulterer's man, Steward, waiting with the turkey. Gareth stood beside him, waiting expectantly.

Scrooge the Ace paid Gareth and then Steward. As he gave Steward the address, he said, "You can't carry that all the way into town. You must have a skyride!"

Um, Dark Ace, they don't have skyrides in 9th century England.

"Oh, but _I _have skyrides! And don't call me _Dark_ Ace. It sounds so mean and . . . dark."

_Okay. _Didn't see that character change coming.

So the Ace got a Switchblade for Steward—Ace's very own, in fact—and then ran back up into the ship to dress in his best uniform.

Once he was out on the streets, he was greeting everyone with "Hello!" and "Good morning!" and "How are you!" and "Merry Christmas!"

And then he saw a man with a familiar face. As he drew closer, he recognized the man as Tritonn. The Ace felt a pang in his heart for how Tritonn must think of him, but he knew what he had to do. He walked right up to the blue man and said, "Why, hello! I hope you succeeded yesterday?"

Tritonn blinked in surprise. "_Ace?_"

"Yes," Scrooge the Ace said. "That is my name, which I fear is not pleasant to you. Allow me to ask for your forgiveness. And if you please, sir, you can put me down for—" And he whispered in his ear.

Tritonn blinked in surprise. "Why, Ace! But I never woulda . . . I mean . . . Aye, are you serious?"

"Yes," the Ace insisted. "And not a penny less!"

"I don't know what to say . . ."

"You don't have to say anything. Just come and see me. Will you come?"

"Aye!"

And so he continued his walk, greeting people, patting children on the head, questioning beggars, and joining in, or else raising, other's merriment.

In the afternoon, he came at last to his nephew's house. When he knocked on the door, a girl maid answered.

"Well, I'll be, if it isn't a Vaposian native!"

She's not Vaposian in the story, remember Ace?

"Oh, right, right!" He addressed the girl. "Is your master home?"

The girl looked startled. "Finn!" she called in a panic.

Finn came to the door. "Yes, what . . . Uncle!"

"Finn," Scrooge greeted him. "I've come for dinner. That is . . . if you'll have me."

At first, Finn just stared at him. Then, with great excitement, he clasped his hand, and it was a wonder he didn't shake it right off! "Dude, I can't believe you came! 'Course I'll have ya! Come on, in, dude. You're letting all the cold air in!"

It was a merry party, one in which everyone, including Dove, Billy Topper, and Marge, included Scrooge the Ace in all their fun.

But even after all that joy and the late night, Scrooge the Ace was at his office early the next morning, for he had a plan. He just _had_ to get there before Aerrow and hopefully would catch Cratchit coming in late!

And so it was. Aerrow Cratchit came in a full eighteen minutes late, huffing and puffing as if he was still racing the nine o'clock hour.

The Ace cast Cratchit a stiff glare. "You're late."

"Sorry," Aerrow said breathlessly, shrugging off hi jacket. "I _am_ behind my time."

"That you are," Ace agreed. "Step this way, if you please."

"It's only once a year," Aerrow argued as he came toward him. "It won't happen again, I promise."

"You're right," Scrooge said, "because I won't stand for this any longer. Therefore," he rose from his chair, causing Aerrow to stagger back out of fright, "I'm going to . . . raise your salary!"

Aerrow blinked, truly believing Scrooge might be loosing his mind. He trembled and edged toward the Ace's sword, thinking that he could use it to knock the Ace on the head and hold him down until he could call the rest of his squadron for help.

"A merry Christmas, Aerrow!" the Ace cried in earnest. He patted the boy on the back. "I'm going to raise your salary and help your struggling family in any way I can! We'll discuss the matters now! But first, put some coal on the fire before you dot another i, Aerrow!"

And Scrooge the Ace did better than his word. A better man the Terra of England had never known. And to Tiny Radarr, who did not die, he was like a second father.

And as the Ace paraded up and down the streets with Tiny Radarr on his shoulder, he laughed and laughed and laughed. "A merry Christmas to us all!"

All the characters gathered around to see for themselves. "Hey, look!" Gareth said, pointing. "Tiny Radarr's trying to speak!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Starling scuffed. "Radarr can never speak."

But then, with a strange twinkle in his eye, Radarr tilted his head to the side and said, "God bless us, everyone."

The End.

"Wait, narrator, that's it? That's the end?"

Why, Ace, did you want it to continue?

"Well . . . I was getting rather fond of it."

"Radarr spoke! I can't believe it! Radarr _spoke!_"

That's the power of writing, Aerrow. Anything happen. But don't expect it to happen again.

"Radarr _spoke!_"

I don't think we're going to get much out of Aerrow for awhile.

"Ah, that was quite a performance . . . if you like amateur work."

"Yeah, no talent whatsoever!"

Staldorf and Walder? What are _you_ two doing here?

"We heard you were putting on a performance," Staldorf said. "So we decided to check it out."

"Now I'd like a full refund," Walder said.

But you didn't _pay_ to see it!

"I still want to be paid for this absolutely _horrible_ performance," Walder insisted. "And don't you know how _**overdone**_ _A Christmas Carol_ is?"

I think my continuous headache is getting worse.

"Hey! There was no Nutcracker in the end!"

Oh, Arygyn, not _you_ again!

"According to this script, I'm supposed to defeat the Mouse King and win a princess!"

Let me see that! Where'd you get this script?

"Does it matter? It's in the script!"

Well, who would you want for a princess?

"Well, since Acey _is_ the main character . . ."

The Dark Ace glared at him. "Get away from me, you gay freak! And narrator, I thought I told you _not_ to call me Dark Ace. Please?"

But _A Christmas Carol _is over. You can get out of character.

"I am reformed! I am now reminded about why I was in the Storm Hawks to begin with. From now on, I will be a good man!"

Aerrow's face lit up in a smile. "So that means you're not going to try to kill me anymore?"

"Yup!"

"Or hurt my squadron?"

"Yup!"

"Sweet!" Finn exclaimed.

Master Cyclonis ran toward the Ace angrily. "_No!_" she said. "You can't! You're the only one I trust! Don't you remember my glory, your glory, your _promise_ to Cyclonia?"

The Ace's face lit up. "Hey, you're right!" He drew his sword.

"Aerrow!" Piper cried.

Aerrow ducked just in time. "Should've seen that one coming," the Sky Knight muttered as he pulled out his blades.

"Now _this_ is a good show!" Staldorf said.

"Yes," Walder agreed. "_Finally_ some real action!"

Okay, that's it! I quit! I'm leaving! Goodbye! So long! Tear each other to ribbons for all I care! This narrator is out of here!

* * *

Author's Notes: Um . . . the ending after The End was not really intended. It just kind of . . . happened. The Producers insisted on rating it, and after that, well, things got a little out of hand.

**Narrator:** Out of hand, Wolf? They completely ruined my production! Not just the Producers . . . _all of them!_

**Wolf:** Well, seeing as they're _Storm Hawks_ characters and you're not . . . they automatically win. And for the record, if Aerrow gets killed by the Dark Ace, you're fired.

**Narrator:** You can't fire me! I already quit! I'm never coming back again, you hear me?! I don't get paid enough for this aggravation! You owe me some pain relievers for my headaches, you know that?!

**Wolf:** If you quit, then why are you still here?

**Narrator:** I'm making a point. You . . . !

**Wolf:** *shoves narrator out the door and slams it in his face* Gosh, narrators are so longwinded!

**Arygyn:** I still didn't get to do my part!

**Wolf:** *sigh* _You _again. _Anyway_, please review! It might get the narrator off my case.

**Arygyn:** And tell that narrator _and_ Wolf that they should have let me do my part!

**Wolf:** Arygyn . . . shut up.


End file.
